


On the Roadside

by lustmordred



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-14
Updated: 2011-12-14
Packaged: 2017-10-27 08:38:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/293824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lustmordred/pseuds/lustmordred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You wonder what he's thinking when he shivers like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Roadside

You wonder what he's thinking when he shivers like that.  
 _Richard Siken (Road Music)_

 

They’re pulled over on the side of the road, somewhere along I-90 on their way through Montana. Bobby called them the night before with a strange case, something involving angry spirits and frightened small-town people that, on the brink of Armageddon, sounded like a goddamn vacation, so here they are. Miles from anywhere, the last town they passed having a population in the low hundreds, and the next one up ahead in possession of the only gas station they can count on seeing for the next two hundred miles.

But the last town had a diner and they had stopped for food and now they were on the side of the road eating it. Sam is leaning against the passenger side of the car, away from the traffic--which at present consists of a pickup truck with a cowbell strapped to the back bumper that rumbled by about ten minutes ago--and Dean is sitting on the hood of the Impala eating his cold burger and staring off at the horizon.

It’s a nice horizon, Sam has to admit, if a little too _au naturale a la_ Deliverance Country for his tastes.

“Should we be doing this?” Sam asks. He eats a French fry, makes a face at the cold, soggy feel of it on his tongue, and swallows it.

“Can’t go around bumping off ghosts on an empty stomach, Sammy,” Dean says, indifferent. He takes another bite of his burger and chews, then turns his head to look at Sam leaning against the car beside him. “That’s not what you meant,” he says, talking around his food as he chews.

Sam’s lips quirk in a little smile and he reaches out to rub mayonnaise from the corner of Dean’s mouth before he thinks about it and is a little surprised when Dean jerks his head away from his touch and wipes it away himself with the back of his hand. He’s still not used to it; the way things are now. There are places he used to move in freely around Dean that are now forbidden to him and he gets why, but it’s been different between them for so long that he’s still adjusting to this new distance he has to maintain.

It still hurts when Dean flinches away from him like that.

“Sorry,” Sam says. He clears his throat and tries for normalcy. “What I meant was, should we be doing this instead of trying to save the world? You know, Armageddon? The devil?”

He tries for casual or something like it so that he can keep to himself how much he hates the way Dean looks at him these days. Sometimes it’s just Dean and he’s just looking at him and that’s fine, but _sometimes_ the look in Dean’s eyes reminds Sam of every drop of blood that ever passed over his tongue. It’s like having a mirror in front of him that passes judgment on every mole and wrinkle. He doesn’t know if he succeeds, but like with most things, they’re not going to talk about it anyway, so he can pretend.

“There’s still bad shit out there that can be taken care of while we’re waiting for the next sign of the Apocalypse,” Dean says. He finishes with his burger, or just gets tired of the cloying flavor of the cold ground meat, and drops it back into the grease-spotted bag beside him. Wiping his hands on his thighs, he chews and swallows, then just sits there staring off at the mountains. “You know, I like Montana,” he says.

It’s said casually, but Sam recognizes the tone from the way his own voice gets when he’s trying to make like he doesn’t care when he does. “It’s alright,” he says.

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Quiet. Not enough people around for there to be too many ghosts or for demons to take an interest. It would be a nice place to stay.”

“Maybe,” Sam says. Privately, he thinks it would be boring as shit and within a year they’d both turn into raging drunks and general reprobates just to keep themselves entertained, but he knows what Dean means.

Dean looks over at him and his gaze goes sharp and thoughtful as he studies Sam until Sam becomes uncomfortable with his attention. When Dean looks away from him again, he shivers a little and Sam notices it, but he doesn’t say anything. Used to be, he’d know what it meant and it would have pleased him to see his brother react to him that way, but now… now it’s different. He still thinks he might have an idea what it means, but it’s not the same and it just makes him sad.

“God, we’re fucked up,” Sam mutters, cramming his uneaten fries and the rest of his own burger back into the bag beside Dean, then tossing it all in the back seat to throw away later.

“Yeah,” Dean says. He hops down from the hood of the car and starts around the car to get in and start it, but Sam grabs his wrist.

Dean halts and pointedly looks down at where Sam’s fingers are tight around his wrist. “Sam,” he says flatly.

Sam ignores the implied warning and reaches out to run his other hand up the side of Dean’s neck, into his short, soft hair. He feels Dean tremble a little at the touch even as he tries to jerk away from it, and despite the rejection, there’s a flash of triumph that tastes just like candy in Sam’s mouth and he smiles. He knows what Dean’s thinking this time and yeah, maybe he’s telling himself that he doesn’t want it, but he’s still thinking it and Sam feels a little less hopeless now that he knows that.

“Maybe we’ll come back,” Sam says, and releases Dean. He snatches the keys out of Dean’s hands because Dean’s still a little off his game from the touch and his own reaction and gets into the car.

“Hey, wait you’re not--”

“Yes, I am,” Sam says, starting the car. “Now get in… or stay right here and enjoy your very own little private Montana walkabout.”

“Fine,” Dean snaps, and gets in the passenger seat. He defiantly does _not_ put his seatbelt on. “I’m driving again when we stop for gas.”

“Maybe,” Sam says, and pulls onto the highway, grinning to himself.

  
**XXX**   



End file.
